Page 7 of Stranded with My Mafia Boss

"Ah." He took another bite of his pancake.

Wanting Damien was dangerous. This was just another day, just a meal shared between a boss and his assistant.

As though it heard me lying to myself, my heart raced when our gazes met, the intensity making my hormones sit up and beg.

I needed to get a grip. My mind had wandered into dangerous territory.

Business conversation should help. Or maybe suggesting we decorate to pass the time. He’d be snapping in no time, and everything would be back to normal. Though I did need to make sure Damien knew my priority.

"If something goes wrong with Max there’s a way out of here, right? If I need to leave quickly?" I asked.

He paused, considering the question. "It depends. What’s the issue with your brother? You’ve never said what his health problem is."

My muscles tensed and I hesitated before answering. "He’s got an autoimmune disorder," I said quietly, staring down at my food like it held the answers to all my problems.

"I’m not familiar. Is it something that can be cured?" Damien asked, unusually gently.

"We both wish. With treatment, Max should be okay, but it’s expensive and a flare-up can make him sick pretty quickly." I swallowed hard. "It's been a constant worry for me ever since our mom left."

"Your mother left you?"

I shrugged. It was an old wound, not so tender anymore. "She had better things to do with her life than take care of a sick kid. She would’ve taken Max with her if shehadto, but she made it clear she didn’twantto. We haven’t spoken in years."

"Family’s all we’ve got in the end, really," Damien said softly. Something about the way he spoke and the light in his eyes made me look at him twice. It was strange to see the billionaire mafioso looking at me with such understanding, and it only made me more nervous.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is," I said. For a moment, we simply stared at each other, our shared pain and vulnerability resting between us like a tangible force.

"Let me know if anything happens." Damien went back to his breakfast, but the firm note in his tone made my chest tighten.

I didn’t say anything but fiddled with the pancake, my appetite gone.

"Do you have any siblings, Damien?" I asked, then winced. "I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry."

Damien gestured with his hand as if to brush my embarrassment away. "I had a younger brother once. His name was Antonio. He died very young. Our parents were killed by the same car bomb."

"Oh, no," I said, shocked by his revelation. It was hard to imagine the ruthless man in front of me experiencing such a profound loss. "I'm so sorry."

"Life in the business is not without its dangers," he said. "After the attack, I struck out on my own. I kept in touch, of course, but I wanted to make my own way." He smiled. A cousin of my age has twin daughters a little younger than you."

The weight of his memories pressed down in the air. "So do you still work with, uh, your original family, or did you find your own?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

"My mother was a Santini." He looked away to stare out the window at the snowflakes drifting through the air. "A good portion of my business is outsidethebusiness so that we have a toehold in the legal world. I plan to have a family of my own. I created something that is mine, so perhaps my sons will be able to follow a different path if they wish." He ducked his head and grinned at me. "I’ll admit my mother’s sister has women lined up whenever I go to visit."

I choked on my coffee at the mental image of a cattle call to marry Damien.

"Look at the time," he said smoothly, setting his fork down. The moment of vulnerability vanished as though it had never existed. Yet something had shifted between us, a subtle change that left me both exhilarated and nervous in equal measure. Maybe just a bit more nervous.

"If you’d double-check the numbers on the Brindosin project?" It wasn’t a question despite the inflection in his tone.

I nodded and headed upstairs to my laptop.

Then I paused and said over my shoulder, "Iamon vacation, Damien."

"Katie." His words were pure seduction, low and sultry.

Turning on the stairs, my gaze locked with his. The spark of attraction flared between us, an unspoken desire that needed to stay unspoken. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself be swept away.

Then be sad and possibly without a job afterward. Or dead. Stupid idea, horrible. No, thanks.

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